Stranger in the mirror Boo Radley
by annabeth123
Summary: This is an assignmet or English class, it is creative writing in 1st person of Boo Radley. Please read and comment You can be like my editors! Thanks! PS it is the "fight chapter" where Jem and Scout get attacked


May 30, 2010

Period 1

_I DID NOT WRITE TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, _wonderful story though **this was a class assignment (and I love creative writing) so please take the time to read it because that would be great, since I need people to comment what I should change, if something sounds funky, or if you like it! **

**Enjoy!**

**Creative Writing Assignment- Boo Radley**

The old grandfather clock ticked the lonesome seconds away, while the sun went hiding behind the edge of the world for the day. The pink and red streaks that had painted the sky faded away to blackness.

My legs I had curled up on the window seat began to prick. I'm tired of waiting for Nathan to come home. He said he'd come back soon. _Soon, Soon, Soon_, the words that were given to me by that no fun lovin' man mocked me. He probably just left on a train, leaving me alone here with just the dusty pictures of mom sitting on the mantle of the fireplace. Even if I don't like his company, doesn't mean I want him to leave me.

I sat and wallowed in my misery. Why can't I go and visit Scout and Jem? _"That's Father's rules, and I still keep those rules, no leaving the house!"_ Nathan's voice floated in my mind. Well, if that a rule, there is probably one about having any feeling- like happiness or excitement. And the only excitement I got for a while was watching Scout and Jem's cheerful faces as they found the treasures I had left for them in the hole of the tree the rested in the front yard.

"Cecil Jacobs is a big fat he-en!"My head snapped towards the window. _He-en….He-en…..He-en….. _echoed through the southern air. I scanned the dust beaten road in search for the source of the shout. I couldn't see anything in the bleak, black blanket that covered the world outside my window. There was only silence for a few tense minutes. Suddenly, I heard the pounding of feet against the road. Someone was running- no, more than one person. I couldn't think of any reason someone would be running at this hour. I felt uneasiness settle down in my stomach. I saw two figures emerge from the darkness, and shortly after, a third. I un-curled myself off the window seat and walked to the kitchen and picked up a sharp kitchen knife. I tucked it in between my waistband and my belt Hopefully there would be no reason to use this.

I started down the front stairs, fresh night air hitting my face, when I heard a shuffle and a nauseating crunch followed by a scream. I ran towards the oak where the fight was taking place, hearing metal striking metal. I finally recognized an intoxicated man, squeezing the life out of a deformed ham costume- arms and a head sticking out of it, belonging to Scout. That man is trying to hurt those children! In the last three feet I heard a gasping sound from Scout, and so I grabbed the man's shoulders and flung him away from her. He tried to get up again and attack, but I threw my weight against him and we crashed at the edge of the oak. The faint moonlight skidded against something gleaming sliver. He had a knife held firmly in his hand. Panic swelled up inside my chest, constricting my breath until I remembered I had one as well. One of his hands in the shape of a fist pummeled my head and his feet kicking widely as I tried to pin him more while I stretched my hand down to grab the knife. I felt the course wood beneath my hand. _It's only in self- defense _I told myself. I drove the knife somewhere in the man, feeling soft tissue give way. The man groaned and I smelled whiskey on the man's rotten breath. His body stopped struggling and slumped, his breath wheezy. I didn't want to watch him die. I stood on shaky legs, stumbling a bit, sand irritating my sensitive skin in my shoe. I looked round and saw Scout trying to straighten herself out beneath a mess of twisted, bent wire and mesh. My fist instinct was to do to her and help, but then I saw Jem lying still, knocked out cold, his arm bent at awkward angles. That must have been the cracking sound. I turned to him, wrapped his good arm around my neck, and tried to get him to stand. His body slumped and almost fell, but I caught his legs in with my other arm which wasn't supporting his head and neck. I stood on wobbly feet, doubting myself that I could make it to the Finch's house. I made the first step and felt my confidence build up. As I walked, trying not to tousle Jem's arm too much, I heard soft footsteps behind me. Probably Scout following me. I walked up their front door steps, and before I attempted to knock on the door, Mr. Finch opened it wide up.

His look upon his face flicked from utter surprise to alarm as he gazed upon his son. He reached out his arms as if to cradle him, and I gratefully handed the unconscious boy to his father. The minute I did, his expression changed to determination. I wondered if I had only imagined the soft father I had seen only seconds before. He made a motion with his head to follow him in. I timidly walked through their front door. A blazing light made me squeeze my eyes shut. Slowly I opened them, letting them get accustomed to the light, it still hurt. Mr. Finch had noticed me stopping, turned his head, and looked at my eyes as if he was reading into something deeper.

"Calpurnia! Please go ahead of me, turn on Jem's light but cover it with a towel of some sort."

Calpurnia, who had been standing shocked, bustled ahead of Mr. Finch. We entered the room after her. I slinked over to the dresser and crossed my arms, my eyes drinking in the sight of another boy's room. There were football magazines scattered over the floor, and a mirror slightly in front of me. I was taken aback by the reflection staring back at me. A tall, skinny pale man with fluffs of hair, and the lightest eyes. As I was contemplating my appearance, Mr. Finch had settled Jem down. A slam rang out from the front door, Scout was here. Mr. Finch left in a hurry, leaving me with the unconscious boy, football magazines, and a stranger in the reflection. Who knows what shall become of me.


End file.
